


And Over Her Milk-White Shoulders

by Ohdotar



Series: Tell me what I am [1]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: 666/5 would hang out with, Age-wise you can think of older teenagers probably, Amora is very important to me idk why, And then spitting out this monolith, Angst with a Happy Ending, BAMF Sif, Bisexuality, F/F, F/M, Fandral is an ass but a very lovable ass, Gen, Gender Identity, Genderfluid Loki, Girls are pretty and boys are pretty and so is everything in between, How i went from hating girly flowery Lokis, Loki is somewhat younger than the rest of their gang I think, M/M, Magic, Odin's A+ Parenting, Pre-Thor (2011), Really this is just fluff about pretty dresses, She is the greatest best anyone ever, Some slight self-loathing, The story of, Thor Is Not Stupid, Thor Is a Good Bro, To drawing those three days in a row
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-17
Updated: 2017-04-17
Packaged: 2018-10-20 03:14:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,446
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10653741
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ohdotar/pseuds/Ohdotar
Summary: ...Her Hair Comes Tumbling DownSitting down in front of the mirror Loki looked at the face that looked back at him with an exhausted expression. It looked pale and thin and tired, so perhaps the worry was understandable.It could have been a little bit more pleasant to look at if it was… just a little bit more delicate. If Loki’s chin was slightly less wide, nose just a hint straighter and smaller.





	And Over Her Milk-White Shoulders

**Author's Note:**

> I have a very strong dislike toward Loki being portayed as this weird hermaphrodite Indian princess by default. That being said, I think that it's definitely worth a one-shot (or a thousand more) to let Loki be both genders whenever he or she feels like it because this is what I live for.
> 
> Also, an open letter to the English language:  
> Please, do something. It's impossible to write something like this without the concept of Finnish Hän / recent Swedish version Hen / some other sensible gender-neutral pronoun.
> 
> Gendered pronouns change based on physical shapeshifting here, not inner feelings. Just a heads-up so no one snorts a beanstalk up their nose to get angry about it.

_“Oh, but my Prince, surely you’re as sweet as the summer’s first flower!”_  
_“Like the white crane on a bog! What delicate limbs have carried you here again!”_

Some had said several times that Loki was 'slender', for a young man of his age. That he wasn’t as strong and brawny as his brother. He knew it already without saying, but for some reason people liked to remind him of his inadequate physique.  
He had also heard his features called 'fair', and he knew well that he had a very pale and narrow face. Once he had even been described as 'doe-eyed’, which had him flush red from surprise and embarrassment. He’d heard ‘willowy’ maybe twice. 

They were all gentle, pretty words. The sort that were never used on any of his friends and peers. No one would draw attention to a warrior’s milk-white hands or the following rosy cheeks unless they were referring to him. He didn’t know how to receive such comments when they made his skin crawl. They were insults wrapped in pity and stung like prickling nettles, and Loki found himself mulling over such words often when he saw his reflection.  
For a young maiden they would have all been compliments. A slender, fair girl. A doe-eyed darling, likened to a bird.

_“You mustn’t be disheartened, Loki, Lady Sif has bested many a man before thee! Granted, few as often as you, but I think you secretly enjoy the beatings from her. Don’t you, my lad?”_

It wasn't that he never thought... women... attractive. It was just that had he been one, he wouldn't have found himself so. And it wasn't that he didn't, sometimes perhaps, find other... men... attractive either, but.  
But of course he didn't, not really, it was just a strange sort of jealousy he couldn’t name. The kind that made him feel nauseous when comparing his long limbs to others’ strong arms, but also turned into an odd flustered feeling whenever he left out the comparing part.

_“You have been acting strange, Brother, you’re beginning to have me worried. Are you alright? Why did you leave the training grounds in such a hurry today?”_

He stopped using wax in his hair. It started to curl a little very quickly, hanging more freely in front of his forehead. In all truth Loki enjoyed the feel of it getting a bit softer after a few good washings, and didn’t even mind the waves that much. No one seemed to notice any big change, even though he had usually done his best to seem as neat as he could and showcase his angular cheeks and jaw while he was at it.  
He didn’t particularly like doing it anymore, not when he saw and heard that it made little to no difference in how people looked at him. He didn’t look like a man, not like he was supposed to.

Whenever he looked in the mirror, all he saw were too many sharp edges of wide bones and uncomfortable, awkward-looking lines of growing muscle. They didn’t fit together at all. His jaw was getting wider despite people’s words, and the angle was steep, and his knuckles were big and clumsy. He looked like a scarecrow with a young nobleman’s clothes on.

_“What are you watching me for, Loki? Was it something I said or did you just get terribly lost inside your own head?”_

He had seen Sif a few times with hardly any clothes on, when they had all gone swimming together or the day for training was particularly hot. Everyone enjoyed those moments. Loki himself really disliked the idea of stripping down in front of his friends and Thor, when he was so pale and full of jutting bones and odd proportions. He tried to hide behind long sleeves and his hair, even though he knew that it was miserable and cowardly.  
Sif was beautiful. She had just as much strength as any young man did, but she was so much more pleasant to look at. She had a sweet face despite her sharp words. Her shoulders sloped gently, her hips and thighs were soft, and her belly and back both had a gentle curve to them when she stood upright. Her hands were strong but the shape of them was smooth, her neck was narrow and elegant. She was slender and had rosy cheeks despite her strength and shape. Anyone would have fallen in love with her from the first look onward.

Loki had thought that he found her attractive. And he did, certainly, but not only that. Sometimes when the night was falling and he was again alone in his rooms, standing quietly and looking into the mirror, he thought he might have felt a strange knot of jealousy forming inside his chest. Staring at his wiry arms and blocky shoulder-line, his flat chest and his narrow hips.

_“Oh… I haven’t seen you in a while, Highness. You’re not looking very sharp for spellcasting today, are you?”_

He didn’t really start skipping dinners or weapons training consciously. Sometimes he just couldn’t find the willpower to leave the silent safety of his own chambers.  
He didn’t even know what to wear, because recently nothing seemed to fit him the way he wanted. Everything that was soft and comfortable revealed the hard edges of bone and odd bulges of muscle on his body, and every single thicker and more covering piece of clothing just accentuated it further. He would have liked to wear something… nice. Something finely crafted but not overly bulky or form-fitting.

He did see Amora every now and then when he returned books to the library or stayed there to do notes, but he didn’t want to talk to her. She was looking at him with thinly veiled curiosity and disdain whenever she saw him, and greeted him every now and then. Luckily that had been the extent of their friendship for a long time already.  
Thor sought him out in the library too often, shoving him around with happy chatter and a wide smile. Asking too many questions. Loki began bringing the books into his own rooms instead.  
Mother visited him more often and tried to talk to him. Nothing was wrong, not really, nothing he could name at least. Not when she called him her dear son and hugged him tightly.

_“I want you to remember that I will always be here to listen if you want to talk about something. I love you, my son, and so do Thor and your father.”_

Loki knew that he had lost some weight, even without his mother’s careful questions. He hardly ate or trained apart from breakfasts in the afternoon and his own literary studies, and he saw it on his own face and around his collarbones and hips. His bones pressed visibly through skin, sharper than before.  
But there was a good side to the change as well. He was feeling almost satisfied when he saw himself losing some of the muscle he had built. It wouldn’t have been enough to stand next to the other lads without shame, so ridding himself of it felt better.  
When Loki looked at himself and found his body looking less disproportionate and more just thin all over, he was nearly happy with the way he looked. At least from the chest up.

Thor had once laughed that Loki and Sif could have better been siblings than the two of them, since they were both so bonny and pretty and black of hair. Loki didn’t know what to make of his brother’s words.  
Sif had a small, straight nose that fit her perfectly. Loki’s nose was big and tall. Not very bonny or pretty at all. Even if Sif had similar high cheekbones and sharp jaw, her face looked soft and more rounded than his - it wasn’t tall and gaunt like Loki’s, whose face most resembled a young colt or an elk calf. Loki had thin lips and ears that stood out, which was nothing like what was happening with Sif’s features. Loki’s hands and feet were also too large, confusing in their unmanly masculinity. Thin and long, but still decidedly un-ladylike.

Loki let the black curls frame his face freely as he let his hair grow out in the hopes that it would hide some portion of his clumsy jaw. And his ears and his sharp cheekbones. He had taken to wearing baggier sleeves and shirts to try and cover up the odd shapes of the body he was stuck in.  
Sometimes he felt bold enough to wear a velvet tunic with a slightly wider neckline, so that the slope of his neck and collarbone was visible. Loki liked it more than going sleeveless or wearing coats that brought attention to his shoulders. He sometimes thought about finding a new piece of jewellery to wear around his neck. Something decorative that would have helped with making it all seem like a complete outfit instead of warily chosen undershirts and his most comfortable trousers - which, granted, they were.  
Mother was getting worried, and it was clear as the day from the way she asked about his hair and his clothes and his friends and his spare time. Nothing was wrong. That’s what he had told her the last time, but she wouldn’t let Loki see the end of her worry anymore. He was dragged to dinners and weekend festivities, and his mother constantly tried to start a conversation between him and Thor and the rest.  
They all looked at Loki funnily, which was familiar enough, but the strange reserved edge of those looks was new. Sif stared at him with the most puzzled expression.

_“Fix your robes. I will not have my son walk these halls looking like… a page from Alfheim. Have you stopped attending the combat training entirely, Loki?”_

Father was the worst, undoubtedly, and under the gaze of his eye Loki felt like shrinking until he could fit a crack in the floor tiling. The Allfather was as busy as he always tended to be, but all of a sudden his interest in Loki’s studies and interests grew tenfold. He said that he didn’t appreciate Loki’s absence from his combat and sword lessons, when he told that he had been focusing on history and poetry instead.  
Father clearly stated that he didn’t approve of the recent fashion of dress either. It was not fit for a son of Odin to wear his clothes in such a way.  
In what way, however, Allfather never elaborated aloud. Or he did, but not in the same words he thought, to save his own hide from embarrassment. Loki saw it in his stern gaze and heard it in the small pauses in between his words. Where Thor wore thick, padded leather that displayed his strong arms, ready for a fight at every turn, Loki dressed up in softer fabrics, long embroidered shirts and belts around his waist. Loki was wrong, not supposed to be like that, not like a son should be.

Loki liked those nights when the palace was quiet and the lights were low. Brushing out tangles from the black waves of hair that fell almost to a shoulder-level felt nice. Sitting down in front of the mirror Loki looked at the face that looked back at him with an exhausted expression. It looked pale and thin and tired, so perhaps the worry was understandable.  
It could have been a little bit more pleasant to look at if it was… just a little bit more delicate. If Loki’s chin was slightly less wide, nose just a hint straighter and smaller. Brow not quite so heavy. Mouth not quite so thin and wide.

Loki had thought about trying it before, but the bold daring required hadn’t been there. Not that it was much, just a slightly uncomfortable push and pull from somewhere deep inside, but it was still a daunting thought.  
When she slowly glanced up towards her reflection, however, she smiled without even realising it at first.  
She felt a thick feeling building inside her smoother throat as she looked at her palms and wrists that were more narrow than before. Her softer thighs and calves. When Loki touched a hand to her face she was close to tears.  
She liked what she saw and she felt… glad. Happy, even. With herself. The way her hair curled around her rounder jaw and narrow shoulders in loose waves. Her face flushed quickly to a ruby red as she tried to hold back tears of every known emotion. But she was overjoyed. She couldn’t move from her spot in front of the mirror in a long while.

Loki dressed up in the softest, warmest robes she could find and hung a golden necklace over her collarbones, brushing her hair once again. All was done slowly and carefully at first, but everything was just as it should have been. In the end she sat down on her bed and curled up beneath her blankets and furs, dragging with her one of the books she was reading and locating the bookmark. Her bookmark. She read until she fell asleep.  
Come morning Loki woke up hugging her pillows and blankets tightly. Bright sunlight painted golden streaks on the floor and reminded her of the world outside. 

If the Allfather would have seen Loki’s room right then. Seen his son like that. No one in their right mind would ever start acting like Loki did.  
Loki, the prince of Asgard, was not a fair young lady, sleeping in his bed and wearing his clothes and breathing his air. She wasn’t supposed to exist like that. She was supposed to be him.  
And he was an embarrassment and a failure, unable to even live in his own skin the way he was supposed to.  
She didn’t want to leave the room. 

Loki dressed up for the day and pushed and pulled her body and magic and forced herself into his own form again. Not that it really made him different in any way, he just felt much worse. Trying to complete his morning routine like that, with the choking weight of his family’s expectations hanging around his neck, was twisting his insides. What was he supposed to do?  
He tried to get through the day. And the next one. Loki met the people he had to meet -Mother, Father, Brother - and tried to avoid them as best he could. He sat down for dinners and tried to smile, but crossing his ankles and looking at his clumsy, shovel-like hands only reminded him of how odd and foul his appearance actually was.  
Loki only wished for a chance to be someone else. For every waking hour of every day. 

_“Son. It saddens me how little time I have recently had left to spare, but I will be there tomorrow to oversee your training with Thor. I know that there is a noble nature in you. Do dress yourself sensibly.”_

Everyone was looking at Loki like they knew every secret and thought he tried to hide. He knew that he wasn’t good enough, and that he was everything that a young, vigorous man was not supposed to be, but for once he didn’t wish to hear the silence. Hearing others say it out loud would have given him an excuse to leave, and to accept the stinging words. Now he had no rescue.  
Thor was laughing and repeatedly slamming a palm against his back in what was most likely meant to be a nice brotherly pat. He was all big muscle and healthy flesh and neatly trimmed stubble, while Loki was long, wavy hair and thin, trembling wrists. His clothes fit him ill. The warm-up was like Hel and so was the rest. Everyone he fought against bested him, for - in all truth - he wasn’t even trying anymore.  
Would he have been forgiven his existence if he looked and acted less like he did? Perhaps if he sat down and curled in on himself in his uncomfortable combat gear, he would have been overlooked. Perhaps Father wouldn’t have been able to see him if he used a spell to hide himself.

Dinnertime found Loki shaking in his chair from the attempts to stay still, trying desperately to focus only on his food even though the mere thought of eating it was making him feel sick. He had wrapped his body up in the most concealing garb he had managed to find, long hem and long sleeves of the overcoat not nearly enough to hide his shame. Thor was sitting beside him, Father and Mother across them.

“How would you describe your prowess on the training grounds today, Loki? Are you proud of your display?” Father asked after a long, thoughtful drink from his goblet, and Loki froze. The serving staff around the table fell into an uncomfortable silence as well, and Mother pretended that she hadn’t heard.  
“No, Father... I,” Loki swallowed, “simply wasn’t feeling that well.” A long silence followed. The Allfather didn’t look away from the spot he had picked from the wall, Loki didn’t dare look up from the plate in front of him.  
“I take it that you would have felt better trying out new gowns and ribbons, then, boy. Like a merchant’s daughter,” his father replied slowly and with a forceful calm, taking another swig from his drink. One of the servants dropped a spoon and Loki’s heart skipped at least two beats in a row. Or perhaps his lungs stopped working for a moment. At least there was a painful turning feeling in his guts.  
“Odin, I think this can be discussed later,” mother said, and Loki heard it in her voice that she was losing her patience well.  
“No. We will discuss it now,” Odin stated with a deadly certainty. Loki tried to breathe without his inhales shuddering, tried to blink without the sting in his eyes turning to anything else.  
“Father, I was…” he started slowly, yanking himself upright by the spine. Loki was sorry, he didn’t know why he felt like he did, but it was never meant to -  
“Would you rather be courted as a bride by a young warrior the like I’ve been trying to raise you to be?” Odin asked.

Loki didn’t know what to reply. The words fled his mind together with the air that escaped his lungs and left behind the thick taste of building tears in the back of his mouth.  
“No, father, I’m not…” he tried, but Father’s sword-precise voice cut him off.  
“Not a proper son of Asgard. Yes, that I have known for a long time, but only now do I see it with my own eye,” he said. Mother gasped. Thor slammed his fists on the table and jumped on his feet. For a moment Loki thought that he was going blind and mute at the same time, for he couldn’t focus his eyes on a thing anymore, and no other sound came forth from his throat than a few clumsy swallows.  
“Odin!”  
“Father, what are you going on about!”  
Loki understood that he was crying only when he felt something dripping down his chin and from his nose. He tried to breathe but it only made his chest ache in an even worse agony.  
“I want Loki to speak up and tell me why he has decided that taking up behaviour this indecent would be proper for a man of his station!” Odin barked and only after he stood up did Loki’s stiff panic break enough for him to scramble up and away from the table.  
“You are NOT dismissed! You will tell me why you are bent on doing this -”

“I DO NOT KNOW!” Loki screamed, voice cracking between the deep that didn’t feel right and the high that was never heard before. Dropping on the floor, he heaved in breaths larger than he could keep inside his chest. Mother rushed towards him but he couldn’t rein the panic in anymore.  
Loki hid his face into his hands and squeezed his eyes shut, curling in on herself with her fists in his hair, and he couldn’t understand why he was feeling so, there was no reason she could give her parents, only that it was the only way she knew how to think about the person he saw in the mirror when she looked at his face, and he knew that it was wrong in every imaginable way, that it was disgusting and degrading as she hugged his own sides as tightly as he could, but he couldn’t help herself, she only wanted to feel some sort of satisfaction when she looked at his body, even for once in his life.  
Wanted to be just Loki.

Thor had a serving maid fetch a cold towel and dismissed the rest. Loki was sitting on the floor with her knees pulled up to her chest and her fists in her hair, still trying to force down hiccups that escaped her throat and the tears that had her face heat up and flush red. Frigga dropped on her knees beside Loki and hugged her close, rubbing her back and kissing her forehead and telling her in promised whispers that it was all right. Thor hovered close with the cool, damp rag, and offered it to them for Loki to clean up her face. Odin stood in silence further away from them. 

_“I would not turn you from my door, Loki, never in a ten thousand years. You are my bright and brave and beautiful child and that’s all that matters.”_

Mother helped her up and to her own chambers, untangled her limbs to hug her and to dry the tears. She gave Loki a wry smile and promised her that while she didn’t know what in the Nine Loki had been thinking about and going through, she would listen and be there for company.  
She let Loki have a bath and soft clothes, covering her shoulders with a warm fur and brushing her hair.  
Loki didn’t know what it was that was wrong inside her head, and she said as much, to be the way she was. Once the tears ended, she tried to talk, but the shame was too much. Twice that evening Loki forced himself to shift his shape again and tried to flee. Mother was patient, she looked at Loki with gentle eyes and let her have her space if she needed to.

Thor came to greet Loki in the morning, every day for the next week, smiling softer than Loki could remember him doing in a long time.  
“I was so worried,” Thor told her once, “I thought that you were ill, Loki, or that you were cursed with something horrible. You looked so thin and miserable, and there was nothing I could think of to help,” he laughed through a thick hug, and Loki almost thought that it was the sort of laugh that was let out only to hide the sound of crying.  
“But you’re all right. You’re all right,” Thor laughed with a bright, wide smile, squeezing his eyes shut and jostling Loki around in his arms. And Loki hugged him back as tightly as she was able to. There was never a brother more precious in all the realms than her own thick-headed Thor. The mighty caring moron.

_“Of course I can only speak for myself, Loki, but if I were the one to judge these things, I would call you very beautiful indeed.”_

Sometimes Loki thought that Mother actually understood some of the trouble she felt. Perhaps she didn’t - Loki hardly understood it herself - but at least the Queen of Asgard clearly loved the chance to help her out with all kinds of things. For that she was more than grateful.  
Loki was close to tears once again when Mother helped her into a dress for the first time in her life. Tears welled from being so overjoyed when Mother called her beautiful, a picture-perfect royal daughter, as she smoothed out the fabric across her shoulders. But also from the realisation that she could never go out in the dress for shame alone.

Mother told her to visit the library again and to see some sun as well. Loki went out in her older clothes, trousers and tunics, but tried to wear them like she’d seen young noble maidens do for when they went riding or hunting. Word spread quickly through the court. She didn’t want to listen to the whispers, but really there was no helping it either. The rumours were always there and followed her wherever she went.

Sif sat down beside Loki in the palace gardens one afternoon without saying a word. She looked at Loki for a long while, and Loki tried not to avoid her eyes. Eventually Sif wrapped a warm arm gently around her shoulders. The hold was firm and she rubbed Loki’s upper arm slowly.  
“I haven’t got any idea as to why you would want to do this to yourself,” Sif whispered. Loki didn’t say a word to her in reply. It wasn’t about wanting to do anything, and Loki almost started to shove Sif away, but she spoke up again and tightened her hold slightly.  
“But if you need any help in… anything… know that I would offer you mine,” she said, and never before had Loki quite understood the gentler side of Sif. How it was still there, determined to find justice, even when she wasn’t showing it to the world.

_“If you haven’t yet disowned me, I would be grateful for a chance to offer an apology. Both as a king and as your father. May I come in?”_  
_“...you may.”_

Loki could be gracious if she really put her mind to it. It was difficult, when Father was standing in the middle of her chambers with a tired look, and all she wished to do was either to dig out his remaining eye or jump out of the window herself. But she tried her best. He apologised, at length, solemn behind his grey beard, and even admitted to not listening to or understanding her at all. Father didn’t blame her for it, so Loki listened to him. Loki couldn’t really think of anything to tell him in return, but she said that she would be trying to forgive his words. Father smiled a little and thanked her for it.  
“You take after your mother,” he said, very carefully, when he had already reached the door, “You’re both equally terrifying to anger.” Loki didn’t laugh, but she nodded a little. It was the best peace treaty they could reach until more time would pass.

Things changed for better after that, little by little. Sif agreed to start training with her in the mornings, and even though Loki was surely no less beaten than ever before, she felt like she had a chance. Sif told her as much: “You are still taller than me, are you not? I’d wager you could be stronger as well, if you really worked for it.”  
They ended up talking more often than not, at least if asking clumsy questions and failing to form proper answers equaled that. It was a good thing that Sif pushed Loki past her comfort zone. She had her joining the regular training lessons again.

_“Oh, I would have never thought that I would see you in a dress like that… even though, actually, I think you could pull it off better than most people as a man as well.”_  
_“Better than you, at least, dear Enchantress.”_

When Loki looked into the mirror, she was happy. She could hang gold and pearls and pendants around the slope of her shoulders and over her collarbones, and the jewellery she wore looked like it was supposed to be there. She could wear slim sleeves and let her clothes hug her frame tighter, and actually enjoy it. She could smile at herself and look at herself while thinking that… perhaps she was actually a more pleasant sight than she had thought before.  
The shape of Loki’s face was still the same, so was the soft slope of her nose and the length of her fingers. Her clothes and her haircut were different, but for the first time in years she felt like herself again. 

“Do I call you… sister now?” Thor asked when they were leaving for a day trip around the southern country, and Loki shook her head.  
“Just Loki will do. But thank you for the consideration,” she said. Thor seemed puzzled, but nodded and promised to try and stick to her name only. Not that Thor succeeded - he called Loki his brother all the time. Even though it had been painful and embarrassing at first, the feeling disappeared in time. Everything had happened so fast.

Dinners were still tense and walks through the gardens were strange. The head librarian didn’t seem to know how she should have spoken to Loki. Loki herself tried to act like she had always done.  
Which still did include a fair amount of admiring the strong and shapely sight that Sif’s figure was. Sif did notice it rather quickly. And listening to Fandral’s familiar idiocy only with a thoroughly fed up look.

She was easily fooled, her ego easily stroked. A few soft words had Loki completely confused and unable to think straight. So even if she did let the stupid bastard kiss her after a long evening of festivities, it was only because Fandral had Loki by surprise, hovering close to her shoulders and laughing at nothing like he always did.  
“Do not think me stupid only because I am not an audacious, bold-faced swine of a man like you are now! You’d do well to remember just who you are talking to,” Loki snapped to him, heavy bracelets glittering in warm firelight and suddenly seeming like perfect weapons to punch someone’s teeth off.  
“I really like how angry you can get, Loki, it has always added to your charm,” Fandral laughed, possibly trying to fix his error, but not succeeding by far.  
“Yes, I am still me! How dare you,” Loki barked and felt an angry pulse of magic rising inside her. His warm hand on her arm seemed to freeze in place when she took a firm hold of it and twisted it off of her shoulder.  
Loki stared at Fandral in silence, folding the magic tightly inside her and peeling it back again, feeling the added height of his legs and the slightly wider shoulders, bare beneath the dress that suddenly didn’t fit anymore, seeing the taller length of his own nose.  
A moment was all it took and Fandral apologised, still trying to push it aside with a wry grin. Loki let go of his hand. She straightened the dress a little where it had managed to wrinkle over her hips and breasts and turned to get back to the rest of the feast.  
“You really are still yourself, Your Highness. I like it,” Fandral muttered and tilted his head in half a shrug before laughing a little, “Hopefully no one heard that, it would be the end of my career with other ladies.”

Loki didn’t really mind the incident, for at the very least it proved to be a good story to humiliate Fandral with when back at the table. She herself was already beyond humiliation at that point. And it was the first kiss Loki ever received from another man, outside of decorous dignitary customs.  
From a man, not another man. She was a woman. For that evening, at the very least.

_“As long as it wears a dress, Fandral would try for a haystack. The fact that you survived to tell the tale is more of a sign of your spirit than his!”_  
_“Indeed. Besides, Sif’s is the sort of love I should really be courting! Steal her away from all you brutes.”_

She looked down at her hands and her painted nails. Her wrists were narrow and her fingers long, but she knew that the palms could be large enough to easily wield a one-handed longsword should she feel like it some day. The dress she wore made her happy that night, and it was good. Perhaps the day would come when she would feel better in armour again. And after that day she could decide again.  
And if it was less of a decision and more of a feeling, she could learn to live with it.


End file.
